We were driving home from the Austin Rodeo at 9:00 p.m. last night. It was Elise, Mara, Kyla and I. We were waiting at a light at the intersection of 973 and 969 and we witnessed a head-on collission. I think the pretty Corvette was trying to turn left against oncoming highway traffic. He or she misjudged. It was a bad wreck. Bad enough to where we were all shaken, and hoped that the folks involved were okay because it was one of those wrecks where everyone could be otherwise.
We slowly drove on through the light after it turned green. Elise called 911, but cops were already on the scene, I guess enroute to another call. It all happened so fast.
As we were driving home on 71 Maly texted me. She’d sent me a story I’d written in 2009. A story before she was a big sister. A story about realizing how important it is to live in the present.
We’d gone to the fair that evening because Elise and I have jobs where our respective presences are needed. Elise is no longer a stay-at-home mom who caters to our children’s whims. I no longer work in revenue abundant tech where paid time off is handed out like candy and your contributions and dedication are expendible. It was Mara’s spring break this past week and she was left to her own devices during the weekdays while her mom and I worked. We took Mara and her childhood best friend Kyla to the fair at the Austin Rodeo.
I’d earned a meager fistfull of big bills in recent weeks, so that was the budget I’d alloted for our fair outing. I was beat from the work week and from marathon training. I’d’ve liked to just get sideways on the couch and spend my Friday night thusly. Elise said the girls wanted to go to the rodeo, and she’d enjoy herself more if I went. My greedy head didn’t want to go, but my familyman head did. I knew I should, even though I could’ve gone to sleep at 5:30 p.m.
So the four of us piled into the truck and drove out to the Travis County Exposition Center.
$20 to park
$40 for entrance
$94 for unlimited ride wristbands for the girls
We hadn’t even made it onto the fairgrounds and the remaining budget was $18. The girls rode all the rides. Elise and I kind of followed and hovered as distant shadows, giving the girls space that 14-year-old girls probably want at a fair. I knew the girls would be safe, but parents still want to ensure that safety. But really it just gave Elise and me a moving target so we could walk around the fairgrounds, see the fairground things, get some exercise, and witness the girls have fun. To live vicariously. I mean, this is probably one of the main reasons I signed on to become a parent. To watch your children grow up and hopefully have fun in the process before they get too old and too busy for their parents.
Elise and I probably circled the fair by some variant eight times. We’d reconvene with Mara and Kyla every so often. They’d excitedly tell us about a ride or other humans they’d experienced.
The sun went down. The girls still had rides and adventures to experience. It was getting close to my bedtime. There was lemonade to be bought at beyond my remaining budget, and excited giggles about how they thought the fair went until 10 or 11 p.m. I quitely bore witness and, in a moment in my concious that couldn’t even be called a second, decided that that would be okay. As selfish and as tired as I am and was, it could be a long night.
Elise wanted to sit down so we moseyed to some temporary bleachers before the Agrilife trailer. Elise had to go to the bathroom. I sat there in the quiet. I thought about my child and wondered if she thought about us, her old parents hobbling off to find a quiet place to sit instead of being excited and taking in the sites and sounds and experiences and rides. I figured she could have those thoughts. I’m sure I wondered the same of my parents. And now I know. They have those fleeting thoughts. We all wonder if our parents are okay. If our parents are having fun. If our parents really want to be there. If our parents are making a big sacrifice because they have important parent things to do.
The important thing is just being there. And your child knows you’re there. I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else at that moment.
It wasn’t much longer when Mara texted Elise and said they were done and ready to go home. It was well before I thought we’d leave. In a way I was relieved. But I was also sad and disappointed. I’d signed on to be there as long as she wanted to be there. I know there aren’t going to be many more of these chances. These fairs. These parks. These rodeos. These outtings. And that’s the really sad and disappointing part.
There was a point in the evening when Elise and I were walking and circling the fairgrounds. I kind of remember where we were, but I couldn’t tell you where it was. I don’t recall what was in the periphery or what we were passing as we walked. I remember the direction we were walking. I can see us like I’m hovering above us.
“Do you ever wish Maly would hurry up, get married and have a kid?”
We’ve never had that conversation before. And we didn’t have that conversation last night. Not because either one of us was avoiding it, but the talk shifted ever so slightly, and then maybe that’s when Mara texted Elise to tell her they were done and ready to go home.
I’ll never be done being a dad. It’s the best thing this life has given me.